


To Hear Sleigh Bells In The Snow

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Presents, Cute, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Marriage Proposal, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:45:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2843489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Christmas Day, three years into their relationship, Mycroft Holmes is smitten, and Greg is too far in love to ever be saved, so when the DI reveals a surprise that he's been planning for months, they're both in heaven. Perfectly happy. Sublime bliss. Until Sherlock arrives. Mycroft and Greg try to hide their new status, and John and Sherlock have a secret of their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Hear Sleigh Bells In The Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I don't know whether I should make this into a longer fic, following their engagedness and then eventually their marriage or just leave it at one chapter. Also, should I write a prequel? Questions, questions, questions. Opinions in the comments?  
> Enjoy! xx

Their little red stockings hung over the fireplace, both only containing a few items as the rest of the presents were stacked underneath the neatly decorated Christmas tree in the corner. The couple were sat together on the large red sofa that Greg had insisted be moved into the Holmes' manor, with the excuse; 'It's better for cuddling'. A bright, roaring, curling open flame twisted around the burning logs in the fireplace, heating the room to the perfect temperature and steaming up the windows. Since Greg had moved in, the manor seemed a lot more... Homely. The once cold, almost barren lounge which used to contain only two large armchairs, no ornaments and a unused TV, was now warm, with an almost constantly lit fire, still had the two armchairs, but now a sofa as well, and the TV had been, of course,  _upgraded_. The walls were a warm, deep red, which, although it made the room look smaller, simply made it more comfortable. Every change that had been made because of Greg, Mycroft savoured, and at moments like this, when the couple had trudged downstairs in their dressing gowns and immediately curled up on the sofa together, Mycroft loved that he had found such an amazing man. The calm, content silence that had been in place since ten in the morning, on Greg's favourite day of the year; Christmas, was broken. "Gregory... Thank-you." Mycroft whispered, hands idly roaming over his boyfriend's hips and chest. In response to such attention that Mycroft didn't seem to know he was giving, Greg smiled warrmly and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

"For what?" He murmured, keeping his tone hushed, not out of fear of waking anyone; they were the the only ones in the house, but out of fear of ruining the moment. Both men had fairly hectic careers and so moments like this were sacred to them, neither wanted to break free from the comfortable entanglement of limbs, and neither wanted to speak too loudly, in fear of the happy quiet being broken. Mycroft was watching his boyfriend carefully, who's eyes were roaming the room. "Biggest presents first?" Greg suggested, eyes widening at the sight of a rather large red box at the back of the pile of presents. They had a system: John and Sherlock were coming over later that day, so they wrapped presents to each other in red, and they wrapped John and Sherlock's presents in any other colour. Sherlock had insisted that Mummy and Daddy Holmes were  _not_ to be invited, and Mycroft decided that it'd be best, on Christmas Day, that his stubborn little brother's whims and wishes were honoured. 

"You're such a child." Mycroft laughed as his boyfriend stood, untangling himself, and moved all the red presents to beside the sofa they were sat on. "I assume you want to open the biggest first?" Mycroft said and Greg's greedy hands immediately sought the biggest box but the brunette placed his fingers on his boyfriend's wrist. "That's not the biggest." The detective's brow curled into a frown until his boyfriend finally elaborated. "Follow me." They stood and, leaving the homely comfort of the roaring fire, they walked through the house and outside. After walking across the snowy garden for a few minutes, Mycroft pressed a button on his key chain and the garage opened, revealing a deep red, matte Lamborghini Aventador with a gold bow on the centre of the bonnet. "Mycroft?!" Carefully, Greg ran his hands over the bonnet, mouth open slightly in awe. "Is this-?" He spoke softly, looking inside; black leather interior, of course, with a large red box placed on the passenger seat. His boyfriend nodded and tossed him the keys. The door was flung open and Greg grabbed the red box. "Jesus, Myc! I-Holy shit..." He tore open the red wrapping paper and laughed as he saw the contents of the box. Twelve Krispy Kreme doughnuts, each iced with a different pattern. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Lestrade." Mycroft muttered, smiling slightly. The detective inspector took the box and locked his new car, before grabbing Mycroft's hand and bounding back out of the garage. "I love you!" Greg squeaked. "Jesus Myc, how much did that-"

"Abab ba ba." Mycroft murmured, placing a finger on Greg's lips. "Allow me to worry about the money."

"I feel like such a girl right now." Greg looked down at his feet and thought;  _but not for much longer_. He smiled to himself and Mycroft frowned. 

"What're you planning, Gregory?" 

"Nothing." And with that, Mycroft said nothing more. They strolled in comfortable silence back through the snow, listening to each soft crunch as they left a trail of glistening footprints. As they got back into the house and after they'd removed their snowy boots, Greg pulled his boyfriend into his arms and smiled against his neck. "I love you, Myc." Mycroft laughed quietly and ran his fingers through the other's hair lazily. 

"I love you too, Gregory." Then Mycroft's fingers were laced between Greg's in a movement that had become so natural to them, a reflex. Padding back through their mansion, both in only their socks and dressing gowns, Mycroft smiled as Greg's eyes lit up when he looked at various photos of the two of them; photos that had been in the house for two years now, but that Greg still adored with every inch of his being. Once back in the lounge, and back on the sofa, Greg reached down to pick up a small, obviously fabric, badly wrapped present and handed it to his boyfriend. "If you so much as deduce  _one_  of your presents-" He was cut off by the warm, familiar contact of Mycroft's lips against his. "Mhmm.." Greg hummed softly and moved to press his lips against the other's nose. "Open it..." What more could the brunette do than oblige? Once the wrapping paper was folded neatly on the floor, courtesy of Mycroft's OCD, the ginger's eyes lit up as he eyed the carefully folded grey suit, the precise one that Mycroft had mentioned to Greg two years before. A suit that Mycroft had seen once but never been able to find again. A suit that even Mycroft Holmes, the British Government couldn't find.  "Gregory..." He whispered, hands coursing over the soft fabric of the jacket. "It's beautiful..." Greg's slightly worried expression errupted into a broad grin as Mycroft flung his arms around him. "You're perfect." The ginger murmured against his boyfriend's neck. 

"I know." The detective inspector said softly, with a cocky smirk. Mycroft hit him playfully. "Woah! I call abuse!" He chuckled as Mycroft grumbled and nuzzled back into his chest. 

"Sh'up." 

"Of course, dear." Greg glanced down at his watch and sighed. Eleven o'clock. Sherlock and John were due at twelve. That left Greg an hour. He smiled. "Mycroft...?"

"Mhm?"

"Do you wanna open all the presents before the psychopath and his blogger arrive?" 

"Gregory! We both know that he isn't a psychopath. He isn't a sociopath. He's my little brother." Greg rolled his eyes: despite what it may seem, Mycroft caring-is-not-an-advantage Holmes really, truly loved his younger brother. The DI knew that if it ever came to it, his boyfriend would jump in front of a bullet for the obnoxious twat, and then, of course, Greg would jump in front of that bullet in order to save Mycroft. 

"Whatever." He paused, then his lips curled into a grin. "When do you think they'll tell us that they're together?" 

Mycroft couldn't help but snort slightly. "I'm sure Sherlock will do his utmost to avoid the subject, with his 'sentiment is weakness' front, and his whole 'I'm married to my work' thing."

"John'll be the easiest to get it out of." 

Mycroft nodded in response. "I agree, you should confront him." Nodding slowly, Greg moved to pick up Mycroft's presents and hand them all to the other man, before grabbing his own. "All of them?" Mycroft questioned, tilting his head.

"Yeah, we can do the stockings next." The two began unwrapping presents; Greg's 'style', if it could be called a style, was a lot more hectic than Mycroft's, shreds of red paper flying in every direction as the man tore his way through his pile, until, finally, he'd collected a stack of his gifts in his lap, wrapping paper covering the sofa, the floor, and there was a gold bow stuck to his boyfriend's forehead. He glanced over at his boyfriend and laughed as Mycroft unwrapped his own final present carefully, folding the paper neatly and placing it on a stack that was about as tall at his knee. "Done yet?" The DI mocked, grinning at his pile of presents: a new black iPhone 6, to match the one he bought Mycroft, a present they'd decided on in advance; Green Day concert tickets; a twelve month unlimited donuts card for Krispy Kreme and a new, black, Gibson Les Paul guitar.  Mycroft grinned down at his own presents: the new iPhone, his new suit, a new, crystal cut wine decanter, a remarkably expensive bottle of scotch and a new black umbrella, identical to his old one except for an engraving on the handle of the words "Government Property", one of Mycroft's  _stranger_  pet names for his boyfriend. The two placed their presents on the floor and found comfort and warmth in each other's embrace, a comfortable position for both; Mycroft's head rested on Greg's chest, Greg lay back on the sofa, holding his boyfriend close. "Are you starting to like Christmas?" A slow nod from Mycroft caused Greg's pale lips to curl into a smile. 

"Stockings now?" The brunette suggested after a few minutes of light silence and affectionate, slow but brief kisses, moving to a more upright position. Greg nodded and Mycroft stood, despite his boyfriend's protests, walked to the fireplace and took the two stockings. The fire was beginning to burn low, glowing gently and crackling occasionally but neither of the two cared enough to tend to it: they could always relight it. Returning to their usual position on the sofa, the two began to rummage through their stockings. Inside Greg's was two bars of chocolate, a new leather wallet and a phone case to match. Mycroft's was much the same, just little presents to fill the stockings,  _Christmas tradition_ , until he came to a small red box, right at the bottom. "Gregory?" The brunette said softly, heart speeding up;  _could this be-? No. It couldn't, could it?_  He watched as his boyfriend's face lit up, first with a smirk, then something that resembled nervousness. Greg stood and took the box. "Gregory-?" Mycroft repeated, but the DI ignored him. 

"Y'know... I... I put a lot of time into this, thinking about what to say... I-You make me s-so happy." Greg swallowed thickly and slowly lowered himself onto one knee. "When we first met..." He paused, then nodded to himself. "When we first met, I knew you were... Different. After a few weeks of... Rather awkward meetings, discussing Sherlock, or with him... You left me your number. A-And I called you... My life is... It's a million times better than I could've ever wished it to be, all because of you." The DI let out a long, shaky breath - his thoughts were jumping around like a grasshopper on steroids and he was struggling to remember what he meant to say. "I'm just a man, a detective, but you're so much more." A nervous laugh escaped the man's throat. "Shit, I practiced this in front of the mirror like a million times..." Then he looked down, heart pounding, faster and faster, as though it was trying to beat it's way out of his chest. His hands began to shake more violently. His breaths shook more and more. A cold, pale hand was placed over the DI's and a finger lifted the man's chin. Piercing blue eyes softened by tears met Greg's and Mycroft smiled, a smile that meant  _you can do this. I believe in you._ Greg's heart slowed and he continued. "Mycroft Holmes, you are the most caring, and the most compassionate man that I have ever met. A-And from the moment you saw this box," Greg raised the box slightly, smiling, "I know you knew what I was going to say. So here it is." A long shaky breath. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Myc. I want to hold you when you cry, I want to laugh with you when you're happy. I want to sit by a stream and throw stones in and watch the ripples play across the surface and just... Enjoy being with you. I-I want to wake up every day to see you beside me. I want to see you half asleep, ruffled, tired. I want to be the only man to see you like that. The rest of the world can see the cold, well-kept, good-mannered Mycroft. I don't want him. I want the Mycroft I know you are; sweet, kind, loving, tender, forgiving... I-I guess what I'm trying to say is... Damnit, Mycroft Holmes," Greg opened the box, revealing a plain, thick gold ring, with a three glistening diamonds set in it, "will you marry me?

Mycroft's heart stopped. A thousand thoughts ran through his head. Voices pounding in his ears;  _yes! Yes! A million times yes!_  Those four words;  _will you marry me?_ Did Greg even need to ask?  _Yes! Of course I'll marry you, idiot! I love you!_ Thin lips stretched into a smile, then a genuine, wholehearted grin, eyes half-shutting, small crinkles forming by the corners of them. Silence rang in his ears but he couldn't care less; he was going to marry the one man he cared most about in all the world. He was so happy, happy didn't even begin to cover how he was feeling. A euphoric love potion of emotions filled his mind and butterflies filled his stomach. Everything he'd ever wanted was slowly coming true; Sherlock had been clean for two years, Sherlock was happy, Sherlock was dating John,  _but obviously not dating John, God Mycroft,_ and there was someone in the world who'd stick by Mycroft, through thick and thin. Domestic bliss was never something Mycroft had considered for himself, finding someone to care for, and who cared for him, that's what Mycroft wanted, marriage was just a piece of paper, an excuse for a big party. But Greg changed all of that. Ever since Mycroft met Greg, marriage became an option. Marriage was no longer an excuse for a big party. It was a promise. A promise that they'd be together until they died. ' _Til death do us part._ Mycroft thought, still grinning like an idiot. Finally, Greg's voice bought Mycroft back to Earth. "Myc? Myc? Are you okay?" Then the brunette realised; he'd said none of what he was thinking out loud. "Lost in thought?" Greg mocked, grinning like a  _complete dork_ , Mycroft thought. And then the elder Holmes brother realised; Greg knew the answer before he'd asked he question. Greg knew that Mycroft wanted this. Greg knew that Mycroft had just  _forgotten_  to say yes. Greg knew everything about him. Sometimes, Greg knew more about Mycroft than Mycroft knew about himself. The British Government attempted a stern look, attempted to punish Greg for mocking him. But it's hard to frown when all you want to do for the rest of your life is grin. "Is that a yes?" Suggested Greg, laughing as the brunette nodded, then slipped the ring onto his finger. The DI smirked. Then, in one swift motion, Mycroft pounced onto his fiancée, knocking him backwards, onto the floor. The man pinned the other's arms above his head and growled playfully. "Detective Inspector Holmes. I like the sound of that." Mycroft purred into his fiancée's ear. Pinned to the floor, what more could Greg do that shut his eyes and bite his lip? Mycroft was rarely dominant in the bedroom but whenever he was dominant in the outside world, it turned Greg on inexplicably. "I prefer the sound of Mycroft Lestrade." The DI responded after a moment of sharing tender kisses. 

"Gregory Holmes." The hot breath on his neck sent shivers down Greg's spine. "Or Gregory Holmes-Lestrade."

"W-Why does your name get to be first?" Greg whimpered as his fiancée began to suck his neck, just below his Adam's Apple. 

"Alphabetical, my love." With his arms held above his head, the hottest man on Earth straddling his waist and attacking his neck in passionate, yet tender displays of affection, the DI could do little more than whimper in submission. 

"Well, well, well, isn't this a sight to see?" A deep voice near-purred, smirk evident in just his tone. "Y'see, last I checked,  _brother mine_ , Gregory topped you. But, maybe it was time for a change,  _spice things up_  in the bedroom and all that, I know how it can get for more... Elderly couples. You just lose the spark. Such a sh-" Sherlock was cut off by his brother's strong hand grabbing him by the throat and pinning him to the wall, whilst Greg nodded politely at John and tried to cool his burning cheeks.

"Oh, brother dear, I was in  _such_  a good mood, in fact, I almost forgot how much of a spoilt, idiotic, condescending, brattish  _child_  you are." Mycroft said evenly, calmly,  _too_  calmly. Greg had noticed over the years that the calmer and colder Mycroft's voice, the angrier he was. Never had the DI been on the receiving end of such a tone as his fiancée was using with Sherlock, and Greg hoped he never would be. He saw Mycroft tighten his grip on his younger brother's throat and swallowed. John was watching, ready to intervene if Mycroft took it too far, but not willing to risk upsetting Mycroft, not on Christmas. "You always were such a stupid little boy." Sherlock visibly winced and, although Greg assumed it was because of Mycroft's carefully chosen and precisely delivered words, he decided it was best to intervene. 

"Myc... Let him down. It's Christmas." The DI said quietly, after a few moments, standing and tugging at his fiancée's sleeve. "Let's go get dressed, yeah?" Mycroft loosened his grip on his brother's throat, and silently walked upstairs, quickly followed by Greg. Then John wheeled furiously on Sherlock.

"What the fuck was that?" He snapped, but Sherlock did not seem phased by his harsh tone and replied with the same level of coolness he always had. 

"My brother trying to murder me." 

"No. Sherlock. We said no smart comments, you promised not to piss him off." Although John was smaller than Sherlock, he was still thoroughly terrifying to the consulting detective when he was angry. "They were happy. Why the fuck do you want to ruin his life so badly?" 

"John-"

"No. Shut up. I don't want to hear it."

"John,  _listen_." Once Sherlock had established that John was listening, despite the scowl on the doctor's face, he continued. "Mycroft doesn't like Christmas. He never got has. Even with Geoff, he's never liked Christmas. So why does he suddenly like it so much? Did you see his left hand? No. Because it was in his pocket. Why was he suddenly topping Greg? He was hiding his hand and topping his boyfriend, why? He was happy about something. Very happy. Happier than I've ever seen him. They were both happy. See that box?" Sherlock pointed to the little red box, which had been discarded carelessly on the sofa, that had held the engagement ring. "That box... It's a ring box, John, they're-"

"Holy  _shit_." John interrupted. "You think Greg proposed?" 

"Offer me a better explanation for the sudden love of Christmas and the box."

"Drugs, alien abduction?" The doctor grinned at Sherlock. "They're engaged." Assuming Sherlock would be upset, or angry, or anything but happy for his brother, John watched the man's face carefully. Sherlock's pale lips curled into a grin, blue eyes crinkling around the edges, although he was clearly trying to fight it. The 'sociopath' was  _happy_  for his older brother. John grinned. Then, much to John's surprise, but not against his will, Sherlock leant down, placing his hand on the shorter man's waist and kissed him, gently, lovingly. The doctor's hands clutched at his boyfriend's shirt and he kissed back. "Are we still keeping this a secret?" John muttered, against the other man's soft lips. 

"Mycroft already knows, John, no doubt he's told Greg." 

"Damn your stupid-" Cut off by another, rougher kiss, John yelped quietly, before allowing himself to be pushed back against the wall. "Brother..." He gasped as his boyfriend finally pulled away. The two moved, hand in hand, to the sofa, sitting beside each other, John's head fell to rest on his boyfriend's shoulder. A few light, silent minutes passed before Greg and Mycroft returned, Greg wearing jeans and a white shirt, whilst Mycroft wore his customary three piece suit. 

"The spare room's ready, uh, I'm going to run and sort the food out, then we can do presents, yeah?" The DI suggested as he entered the room,  stood close beside his fiancée. The Holmes brothers nodded and John stood. 

"I'll help." Soft, but stern, John's comment was not an offer, but a statement. Greg smiled and the two headed to the kitchen. Vegetables were prepared,  _no sprouts or I'll cut off your sprouts, Gavin._ The chicken was seasoned and prepared:  _turkey's too dry, Gerard._ And other assorted parts of the meal were chopped, cooked, warmed, sliced, diced. During this process, a silence filled the kitchen, broken only by the  _chop chop chopping_  of a knife. Finally, Greg spoke. "John?" The doctor almost jumped out of his skin and looked up at Greg. 

"I-I-Y-Yeah?" Stammering, the shorter man put down the knife he was cutting carrots with and slid his hands into his pockets. After only a few seconds of thought about what to say, how to broach the topic of John and Sherlock dating, Greg spoke again. 

"You and Sherlock." He said bluntly.

Smirking, John replied. "You and Mycroft."

"Dating. Three years, three days, five minutes." The DI responded quickly, his sudden riposte nearly throwing John off guard. When John didn't respond, Greg repeated himself. "You and Sherlock."

"Friends. Four years, two hundred and four days, twenty two ish hours." Greg raised a brow, ever so minutely, but John could tell that the other knew he was lying. "Dating. Five weeks, one day and, uh, I guess two hours." 

\---

The two sat in silence. Complete, heavy, suffocating silence. But, of course, the Holmes brother were accustomed to this. Sherlock was attempting to formulate the words to tell Mycroft that he was very close to feeling... Happy for him about the engagement. Mycroft was trying to figure out how to approach the subject of John in the conversation. Both thinking. Both calculating. Like always. "Your fiancée looks healthy." Sherlock said, fingers together before him, rested against his chin in the Holmes-esque style he regularly adopted, elbows on the arms of the large armchair he was sat in. 

"I should've known I couldn't keep it from you." His brother responded coolly, not affected by the younger man's comment at all. 

"Blame Gavin's careless discarding of the box the ring was in."

"It's  _Greg_ , Sherlock, I know you know that."

"But it's so fun to watch you both get annoyed over such a tiny thing." The consulting detective smirked mischievously. 

"Oh, I understand fully, like when you'd get upset because I killed your bees. Or when I'd take away your cutlass and pirate hat." There was a fondness evident in Mycroft's tone that Sherlock found strangely heartwarming, but he, of course, would never admit that. 

"I'll never forgive you for that." 

"I know, brother." Mycroft grinned and stood, grabbing a present from under the tree, before handing it to Sherlock and returning to his seat in the armchair. "Uhm, merry Christmas, I guess." Looking utterly gobsmacked, and confused, unable to deduce what the present was, Sherlock tore open the wrapping paper. A black dog's collar with 'Redbeard 2.0' engraved into the dog tag. The consulting detective frowned and Mycroft just chuckled, standing again and gesturing for Sherlock to follow him. They walked through the house in silence, until they reached the study, where Mycroft unlocked the door and opened it slowly.

A small Irish setter puppy came bounding out towards him. "Oh... My..." The detective's heart began to pound. "Redbeard?" He stammered, immediately being taken back to his childhood and crouching down to let the puppy jump up into his arms, in an automatic movement, still wired into his subconscious; a muscle response that he just  _couldn't_  delete. He clutched the dog close, burying his face in the soft fur of the animal's back, blue eyes falling shut, a tear falling from his left eye. "Redbeard version two..." The black-haired man whispered, cradling the squirming dog and bouncing it slightly. Redbeard began to wag his tail faster, licking his new owner's cheek, and Sherlock half-squealed in a way he hadn't done since Redbeard had died. Since his childhood was prematurely shattered at the age of five. Mycroft watched with a smile on his face as his brother wiped away a tear and looked over at him. "Myc, I-" Sherlock didn't know what to say. Crouching down, he put the collar around the dog's neck, then put him down. After a few moments of trying to leap back into his master's arms, Redbeard bounded off towards the kitchen, where he could obviously smell food. Then the room was quiet. The hall was quiet. Everywhere around them was quiet. The brothers began to walk back towards the lounge. "I'm happy for you and John, Lockie. I'm glad he makes you happy." Mycroft said, breaking the silence after a few seconds, in an affectionate tone that Sherlock hadn't heard him use since they were children. "But, Redbeard was your best friend. I thought you might want him back." Biting his lip, Sherlock suddenly pulled his big brother into a tight hug. Mycroft hugged back, both their eyes fell shut and both their minds skipped back to when they were children. When Sherlock was okay. When they were inseparable. When Mycroft taught Sherlock about love, telling him it was unnecessary, even though they both clearly meant the world to each other. Before Redbeard died. Before Sherlock got hooked on every drug he could get his hands on. Before Sherlock began to hate Mycroft for lying to him about Redbeard.  _You said he'd gone to live on a farm! How could you lie like that? I can't trust you. I... I hate you!_ Sherlock's words from all those years ago still rang clear in Mycroft's ears. They both sighed softly before stepping away from each other, Sherlock wiped his eyes and Mycroft smiled warmly. "John's made you soft." The brunette joked and Sherlock sent him a look that could kill. They began to walk towards the lounge again. 

"Lestrade's made you into a Christmas-loving, marriage-supporting, lovey-dovey, cuddly, kissy idiot." The detective shot back, eyebrows lifting in a ' _in your face, brother mine_ ' sort of way. 

"Touché." Mycroft chuckled. Carefully, the older brother opened the door to the lounge as they reached it, not wanting to disturb the conversation going on inside. John was curled up in an armchair, idly stroking Redbeard, who was in his lap, sleeping. Greg was laughing at some joke or something that John had said, sat on the sofa. The Holmes brothers both looked fondly at their lovers and their lovers grinned back. "Lestrade." Said Sherlock, quietly, trying to hide the broad grin on his face from seeing his boyfriend and his new dog. "John." He said, with the same amount of composure. His blogger simply grinned and Sherlock immediately darted over to him, curling up around John in the large armchair and petting their dog lovingly. Raising a brow, but not saying anything, both Mycroft and Greg exchanged an amused glance, before Mycroft moved to sit beside his fiancée. 

"So, boys," The Government began, a sly smirk forming on his face as he watched his younger brother, "how  _are_  you? Anything new in your lives? John? Got a new girlfriend?" Sherlock glared at him, knowing he was trying to get them to admit to their relationship. "Perhaps a boyfriend? Gregory and I don't judge." Struggling to stifle a snort, Greg lay his head on Mycroft's shoulder, a grin on his face that seemed to say ' _yeah_ boys _, anything new?'_ Seemingly oblivious to Mycroft's comment, John continued petting Redbeard, eyes not tearing away from the dog's soft fur. 

"Nope. No girlfriend." Sherlock snapped, on behalf of his boyfriend.

"Now, now, broth-" The brunette trailed off as he saw John press his lips to Sherlock's neck, then trail gentle, loving kisses up to the consulting detective's lips. Eyes falling shut, Sherlock kissed back gently. The kiss was not rough. It was soft, caring, containing a million words from each participant to the other, so much love, affection,  _sentiment_. When, finally, Sherlock pulled away, his eyes reopened slowly and he smiled lovingly at John.  

"Uhm, Mycroft, John-" Strangely, it was more difficult than expected for Sherlock to tell his brother about them, truth be told, Sherlock had never said  _those_  words to anyone.  _My boyfriend_. And,  _I love you,_ were words the Holmes' rarely said to anyone. So, naturally, the detective had never told John that he loved him, and he'd never referred to him as ' _my boyfriend'._ Swallowing back a lump that formed in his throat, Sherlock began again. "Mycroft, Gavin, this is John, m-my boyfriend." Expecting Mycroft to burst into hysterics, or just sigh condescendingly and make a comment about death or the 'East Wind' or something, Sherlock retreated, burying his face against John's shoulder, the familiar smell filling him with a strange new strength. John shifted to put his arm around his boyfriend, who then nuzzled into the blogger's chest. "Just the two of us, against the rest of the world." The shorter man whispered, only just loud enough for the consulting detective to hear. Heart surging at  _their words,_ Sherlock slowly looked over at Mycroft and Greg. His eyes were not met by Mycroft with that  _stupid_ smirk plastered on his face and Greg just chuckling knowingly, but with two grinning  _idiots_ , who looked like they'd just won the lottery. "Stop that." The younger genius said, slightly confused. "Why are you doing that? Stop it." Leaning in then whispering something in Sherlock's ear, John smiled affectionately at his boyfriend's inability to understand some social concepts. Sherlock nodded and blushed slightly. "Oh... Okay." He bit his lip and cast a glance up at his brother. "My apologies." The engaged couple simply chuckled quietly and Mycroft glanced outside. It was still light out: it was only two o'clock, and the brunette's eyes widened as he saw stray flakes of snow drift past the window. He jumped up, almost in sync with his younger brother. The Holmeses had always had a talent for spotting snow. As kids, they'd play in the snow for hours and hours, they'd play until it was dark outside. And when daddy Holmes came out to fetch them in (mummy was always to busy working on some degree or other), Mycroft would run inside and grab a bowl. Once Sherlock and daddy were inside, Mycroft would sneak out again and fill the bowl with snow, before darting back in. He'd sneak into his little brother's bedroom and they'd sit together, on the bed, and play with the snow until it melted. An eleven year-old Mycroft Holmes who stole snow for his brother. A version of Mycroft that not even Greg knew about. The snow fell faster, outside and the two brothers grinned down at their partners. "Come on John! Come on! Redbeard's first snow!" Grumbling, John stood, much to his boyfriend's satisfaction, and kissed Sherlock's cheek. 

"Gregoryyyyyyy~" Mycroft knew he didn't need to persuade Greg, so just poured at his fiancée until he stood. Then, almost immediately, the Holmeses darted out of the room to go and get their shoes on, whilst their lovers trudged behind. Redbeard ran ahead with Sherlock. After ten solid minutes of Sherlock badgering John with phrases like "hurry up, Hamish" or "get your jiggle on, John", both of which he looked ridiculously pleased at, and Mycroft and Greg kissing against a wall and having to be torn apart every five seconds, they finally managed to get outside. The snow was falling thick and fast and there was already a good five millimetres of snow on the ground. Grinning broadly, Sherlock and John darted off into the garden (which reminded Mycroft quite suddenly that his baby brother wasn't a baby anymore, he did not like this feeling) whilst Mycroft just looked down at his feet. "Hey, Myc?" His fiancée muttered, lifting Mycroft's chin with his forefinger. "I love you... Let's go prat around in the snow, eh?" And with that, the silver-haired detective inspector pulled his fiancée, by his hand, into the garden. Giggling, the couple snook, armed with snowballs, towards Sherlock and John, who were snogging against a tree. The first one hit Sherlock clean in the face, the second hit John's neck. The consulting detective pulled away, growling, and took his scarf off, wrapping it around John's neck instead. The shorter man blushed and Sherlock bit his lip. They looked at each other for a moment before leaning forward to kiss again but were stopped as a third snowball hit John clean in the face. Setting his jaw, Sherlock stood straight, faced Greg and snarled, before crouching and gathering snow into a perfect sphere, compacting it loosely. He hurled it at the DI and hit him square on the forehead. Mycroft snarled and lobbed one back, whilst Greg crouched down and began to make snowballs, passing them up to Mycroft. It became a production line - Greg made them and Mycroft threw them. John and Sherlock, whereas, just tossed snowballs randomly and as quickly as they could. A more hectic and slightly less efficient strategy. When a large snowball hit John on the nose, Sherlock hissed and charged towards his brother, rugby tackling him into the snow. Whilst John was watching them, Greg crept up behind him and poured snow down his coat. John yelped and Sherlock immediately leapt up to protect his boyfriend.

After about fifteen minutes, the fight drew to a close, neither couple won: both ended up covered in snow, and Sherlock and John retreated inside with a shivering Redbeard. As Mycroft went to follow them, Greg stopped him, holding out a hand in front of him, the DI smiled. "May I have this dance?"

"There's no-" Mycroft was cut off as he was pulled into his fiancée's arms and his head found rest on Greg's shoulder.  _Music_. The Government thought, finishing his own sentence. Just as he thought the word, Greg began to hum, ever so softly. Then, after a few moments, it broke into soft words, a Christmas song that Mycroft couldn't help but smile and hum along to. 

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas," Greg's singing voice was surprisingly good, and Mycroft just shut his eyes and swayed with his fiancée, "just like the ones I used to know. Where the treetops glisten and children listen-"

"To hear sleigh bells in the snow." Mycroft joint in, smiling as they swayed and sang together, in the falling snow;  _such a cheesy Christmas cliche_ , Mycroft thought,  _but surprisingly_ _... Perfect_. 

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, with every Christmas card I write."

Perhaps, sometimes, love has to be a little cheesy, or there'd be no grand gestures. There'd be no small gestures. Overused gestures, big or small, are still beautiful. A box of chocolates on your doorstep. Roses for no reason. Dancing together. Singing together. Christmas together. "May your days be merry and bright."  All  _so_  cheesy, so ridiculously small, so ridiculously meaningful. But with Gregory Lestrade, everything was perfect, no matter how cheesy, or how grand the gesture, or how small the gesture, or even if there was no  _goddamn_  gesture, no token of love, the look in Greg's eyes, the words from his lips, they were worth a million grand, expensive gestures. "And may all your Christmases be white."


End file.
